it’s not your job to entertain him by sending him nudes
it’s not your job to satisfy him sexually because he’s horny
you are not required to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable or that you don’t want to do
don’t be scared of “losing him”
he most likely wasn’t anything worth keeping
This was me for the longest time. I felt obligated to do whatever he asked.
I am scared to show you my brokenness.
I used to be so proud of it too.
But now I’m trying to tuck it away
in the corners of my mouth
to keep it from you.
I used to wear my brokenness like a badge of honor.
“I am broken, and I am proud”, I would say.
I knew that I was broken,
and I knew it was okay,
but that was back them,
when I thought that no one would ever have to love me.
But what if you tear open my chest?
What if your love rips me open,
and words like “I’m a fuck up” spill out
along with all the rest of the garbage
that I told myself when I was only sixteen years old
and that girl I once loved did not want my hand to hold.
What if you see all of that mess,
and you don’t want to hold my hand either?
I am terrified to show you my brokenness,
because when you say “I love you”
I don’t think you know who you’re saying it to.
I don’t think you know how fractured I am.
I am convinced that no one could ever love that man.
Some things are better left unsaid,
Like all the things I love,
Including the way your eyes ignite
When you smile and how
The world dims in comparison
To your unbelievable beauty,
Because you will never love me
In the same way I love you.
Or like all the things I hate,
Including every dead cell
Of my body that is filled with such
Turmoil and self destruction.
Because I know that you will
Always hate me as much as I do.
And it goes without saying that
It would have been better to
Leave these things unsaid.
I can only write bits and pieces of poetry about you, little lines of your smile and warmth tangled in the veins of a couple verses, though you are every chapter to every book I’ll never write.